


Forty-Seven

by kxneki



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Wedding Planner AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:24:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxneki/pseuds/kxneki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stand like that, with Armin’s palms tracing invisible patterns against the fabric of his tux, and Eren watching him, letting him touch, and somewhere Armin knows that it’s wrong, but can't bring himself to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [d3anstiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d3anstiel/gifts).



"You look-" Armin has to bite his lip to keep from saying something he shouldn't, and corrects himself, " _It_  looks good on you, Annie will be impressed.” He huffs a small, exasperated laugh that his heart isn't in. Armin’s sure he has worry lines forming just from this moment alone. He probably looks twice his age, he thinks. Especially compared to  _him_.

He takes in the sight of him, all cleaned up and sharp looking, spiffy even. It would almost be amusing how well he’s cleaned up if it wasn't so ridiculous the way Armin’s chest ached and skin heated from looking at him, cleaned up or otherwise.

He finds it incredibly difficult not to stare at Eren, his  _client_  he reminds himself, in this tiny little wedding boutique that’s too intimate of a setting. The way the tux fits just right, now that adjustments have been made, how it clings tightly in all the right places. Snug, and comfortable.  _Stop it_.  _Client_. Engaged  _client!_

Eren’s shifting from foot to foot brings him back from his thoughts, thankfully putting a halt to all the things his mind could imagine. He looks boyish when he does that, Armin thinks, the way his nerves get the best of him and he can’t hold still. He’s glad that he’s not the only nervous one, and for a moment Armin can imagine Eren as a little boy trying on his father’s dress clothes. The innocent image disappears when he looks up and finds Eren staring at him, their eyes meet and Armin is suddenly unable to breathe, unable to remember how. 

"Armin," the way Eren says his name sounds like a sin. The forbidden fruit, sounding as delicious as a feast would to a starving man, offered up to him. Armin breaks eye contact, averting his gaze to the measuring tape strewn on the floor beside Eren’s feet. He finds the first number he can make out from a distance and keeps it there. Stability.

Armin is not that easy. Would like to believe he’s not.

“ _Armin_ ,” It’s rougher when it’s repeated, jarring Armin but he won’t look away from the number 47, refuses.

"This was a mistake-," Eren let’s out a sound like he’s being strangled, cutting Armin off. He probably is, being choked in the same way Armin is. Suffocating from the situation they’re in. Not just from being alone together for the first time since this fiasco started. Not just the too-small, too-close room they’re stuck in. All of it.

From the very first time they met at the beach and Eren accidentally knocked into him making Armin lose his grip and his snow cone fall to the ground- Armin remembers it vividly. The cherry syrup staining the sand as if a crime had taken place. The comically guilty expression Eren had on his face as he apologized, thrice, and offered to buy him a new one until Armin had laughed, and relented. The sly smile Eren wore as he handed a fresh one to him, also cherry, and remarked how “Red’s a good color on you” as he stared a little too long at Armin’s face, making Armin blush and his heart thump wildly in his chest, before lowering his gaze to the splatters of syrup on Armin’s shirt from his previous icy treat, and emitting a stuttered, almost shy laugh as he told him his name,  _I’m Eren_ , and apologizing again. Armin looking in the mirror later that day and noticing the bright, red stain smeared on his lips, along with an unwavering smile.

_Forty-seven. 47. Four, seven. Forty-seven._

Somehow, Eren had moved closer without Armin noticing. A mere couple of inches between them, Armin can feel the heat from Eren like sunshine beaming down on him, it’s a welcome sensation and at the same time it isn’t. Armin can’t move.

"Will you look at me?" Eren sounds desperate and Armin can’t really remember him ever sounding that way before. He allows himself to wonder if he’s ever sounded this way with Annie, before he mentally chides himself. Annie is his friend, not someone he should be thinking about in such a negative way. Shouldn't be thinking of her fiance in such a way, either.

Armin doesn't look up, because he’s not easy. He’s not. Although his vision is all blurred, out of focus and he almost forgets what number he was looking at due to the way his throat is all dry and he’s lightheaded because Eren’s smell has reached him. Comforting. If he had to be specific, Eren smelled mostly like freshly made baked goods and clean linen, but always had the smell of the sea lingering on him. Addicting.

_Forty-… Forty-six. No. Forty-something…_

Armin’s hands have found their way to Eren’s chest, fiddling with the suit as if there was a stray thread he was trying to smooth down. It’s funny, how he doesn't remember his hands moving at all.

"I won’t look at you," Armin starts, his voice cracking like he had just woken from sleep, "I  _can’t_.”

They stand like that, with Armin’s palms tracing invisible patterns against the fabric of his tux, and Eren watching him,  _letting_  him touch, and somewhere Armin knows that it’s wrong, but can't bring himself to stop.

Eren sighs after a few minutes have past.

"It was never my intention," Eren starts, his whispered breath ghosting across Armin’s fingers at his lapels, warm. Armin wonders if there’s any part of Eren that’s cold, and can’t imagine it. Armin doesn't want to hear the rest of what he's going to say.

"Intention? I don’t know what-"

"Don’t play dumb with me, we both know you’re not." Even though Eren is upset, his words a bit harsh and blunt, Armin still senses an affectionate tone under them, and he can’t stop from thinking he’s imagining it. Maybe all of it. Has he gone crazy?

He sighs, bitter and frustrated. Pulls away from Eren, steps backwards until he can breathe and not get confused as to which breath is his and which is Eren’s. The measuring tape is clear now, the number forty-seven blaring at him like the biting sting of reality. 

It’s a mistake, looking up at him, but Armin thinks he can handle it, can brush him off now that he’s breathing his own air and is in his own space. Can look him in the eye, tell him off and leave the room. Maybe even leave the job, get Annie a new wedding planner- one that’s not attracted to her fiance- a better one, maybe Marco. Everything he’s planning to do is gone the second he looks up.

Eren looks worse for wear. More distraught than Armin’s ever seen him, even worse than when Annie showed up at Armin’s office with a glowing smile on her face and Eren on her arm. Showing off her husband-to-be like an accessory. Armin doesn’t like to remember that face, or that day. 

"Do you have to keep pulling away from me? Am I that-"

It’s frustrating, how much Armin doesn't want to pull away. How Eren is so inviting when he shouldn't be. Something snaps.

"Pulling away? Eren, you’re getting married! I’m planning your wedding!"

Eren’s eyes look like they’re lit on fire, so determined and angry. It’s as much beauty as it is chilling, and Armin realizes neither of them have ever brought this up before.

Eren’s rigid, his breathing is hard and his brows are furrowed, he looks about ten seconds away from punching something. He realizes they've never really fought before, either.

Armin almost wants to apologize, to console and comfort because that’s just how he is with Eren. It’s maddening.

"You think I don’t know that? I’m wearing a tux, Armin!" 

His voice is raised, he’s almost yelling and Armin is torn between wanting to tut at him and remind him of where they are or maybe take his hand and then kiss him dead on the lips, but he’s getting angry too.

"I’m not blind-"

Eren laughs, this short, mocking sound and Armin’s anger grows.

"I fail to see just what’s so funny. Care to share the joke?" His tone is a testing one, daring and provoking. Eren takes the bait.

He narrows his eyes, takes a step forward, challenging.

"You," he spits it out like poison. 

Armin moves, steps right up to him as quick as he can and pushes with all his strength. It may not knock him over but Armin feels good about it. Feels excited because it felt better than he thought it would, felt justified.

Eren does not feel good about it. He looks more mad than Armin thought possible, and he’s moving just as fast back at him, his warm hands shoving him roughly backwards onto the wall. Armin hits his head, the hiss of pain bringing them down from their adrenaline rush.

Eren looks just as amusingly guilty as he did when Armin first met him.

"God, Armin, I’m so sorry-"

They’re both out of breath, one of Eren’s hands still gripped on Armin’s left shoulder, the other caressing the side of his head. Armin’s fists are balled up in Eren’s suit, and their chests are heaving and touch when they breathe. 

It was a mistake, wrong, wrong, wrong. Forty-seven, forty-seven, forty-.

Their lips are on each other’s in the next second, it’s their first kiss but it feels familiar. Feels like it fits and everything makes sense. 

Everything that’s been built up over the last few weeks have swelled and it’s crashing down as Eren’s lips move over Armin’s. Lightly, sweetly, but Armin wants it all, he opens his mouth, pressing himself shamelessly against Eren.

Eren groans, all heavy and pained and Armin wants to hear that sound over and over. 

_Forty-two?_

Eren’s tongue is smooth, sliding against Armin’s and into his mouth almost rhythmically, making Armin dizzy with want, _need_. They’re both grabbing onto each other, frenzied, and Armin’s sure his head has hit the wall multiple times but he can’t feel any pain from it at all.

Eren starts smiling, Armin can feel his lips stretch into one of those big grins he gets and it’s contagious, making him smile up into him.

There’s a clicking sound somewhere in the distance.

"Hey, I was wondering what was taking so-"

The air from Eren’s retreat is crisp and cold, making Armin shiver from the loss of warmth. 

"Mikasa!" 

There’s really nothing Armin can even think of to say. From where he’s standing, the measuring tape is close by and taunting him.

Fucking forty-seven.


End file.
